


Tea and Tears

by the_authors_exploits



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Alfred cries, Angst, Gen, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-21
Updated: 2016-09-21
Packaged: 2018-08-16 11:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8100400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_authors_exploits/pseuds/the_authors_exploits
Summary: Do you think Alfred cried when Jason died?





	

**Author's Note:**

> [Cross posted on my ace--jace blog](http://ace--jace.tumblr.com/post/150708552004/do-you-think-alfred-cried-when-jason-died)

There was a load of laundry in the washer, one in the dryer; food had been bought, beds had been made up with fresh linen, and the dusting of the west wing was done. All that was left was to finish the laundry, wash the dishes, and prepare for Master Bruce and Young Jason’s return; that included laying out comfortable clothes, drawing a bath the closer they got to arriving home, and making a brief snack. Surely any type of plane food—since Bruce insisted on flying commercial—would taste, as Young Jason would say, ‘nasty’; just in case, Alfred planned to prepare a casserole and keep it in the fridge. Warming it quickly would be easy if they were interested in a full dinner.

The day went easy; the occasional whistly song could be heard as Alfred traipsed the halls. He plucked an occasional hidden trinket from behind furniture on in closets; little cans of food or a pocket knife or a set of unmarked dog tags. Whatever Jason found important, he’d hide about the manor; for a while, Alfred and Bruce let him be and left the trinkets where they were. But now, with Jason’s consent, they were trying to break his hoarding habit. Alfred returned whatever he stumbled upon to Jason’s room, settling them on his dresser with post it notes of where they were hidden away; it was in case Jason forgot their individual hiding places, and later on this evening or perhaps the following morning Alfred would discuss the items with Jason.

_“Did you hide these recently?”_ would be one question, and another would be discussing his emotions or reasonings when hiding the particular item; and then, together, they would find other places for the items. A can of food would be returned to the pantry when Jason was ready, and any physical trinkets like the pocket knife or dog tags would be tucked away in a drawer or other nook in Jason’s room.

_“This is your house, and we’re your family; we want you to feel safe here, Jason.”_

Alfred checked the time; it was nearly an hour before Master Bruce and Young Jason were to arrive, so Alfred began preparing the casserole. He hummed softly, mixing the ingredients together in a pan and then covering it before placing it in the fridge for later; he cut some fruit and laid out slices of cheese and pepperoni on a platter next to the fruit. The fruit for Master Bruce ( _“I need to go on a diet, Alfred! The tabloids are convinced I’m gaining weight and it’s worrying Dick.”_ Of course he had been sarcastic, but Alfred liked to tease his family every now and then), and the cheese and pepperoni for Young Jason.

With the food taken care of, and only a few short minutes before they were scheduled to arrive, Alfred filled their respective tubs and laid out a pair of sweats and casual shirt for each of them; with that completed, all that was left to do was wait for their arrival.

The car arrived on time, a rented limo from the airport, and out stepped Bruce; he looked haggard, exhausted and sore, with dark circles under his eyes and a slump to his shoulders. His eyes were bloodshot and Alfred hurried down the front stairs to take their bags from the trunk.

“Master Bruce, welcome home.” Alfred glanced about, peering discreetly into the tinted limo. “Where is Young Jason?”

Bruce breathed a shaky sigh; “Come inside, Alfred… I have to talk to you.”

Alfred followed Bruce inside, carrying a set of luggage while the limo driver carried another; Bruce already paid the driver, and with the luggage deposited the man left. Bruce lead Alfred into the diningroom, eyed the snack platter, and then sat heavily in a random chair at the table.

“Alfred, please sit.”

“Master Bruce, can I get you something? You’re shaking.”

He was; his hands were wavering and he clasped them together firmly. “Alfred, sit; I have bad news.”

Alfred sat, and Bruce told him. It took some time, the lengthy time of a half hour, before Alfred could stand and before Bruce could stop weeping. Alfred placed a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Master Bruce, you should get some rest; I’ve laid out some clothes for you, and there’s a bath drawn up for you… Though it may have gone cold by now; shall I draw up another one?”

Bruce shook his head; “No…” he sniffled. “I’m going to get some rest.” He stood on shaky legs and clasped Alfred’s arm firmly. “Thank you, Alfred; I… we’ll talk more in the morning.” And with that he disappeared slowly up the stairs.

The laundry from earlier had been completed, so Alfred began washing the clothes from their journey; he separated the colors and began the machine, turning to carry the last bits of clothes from the earlier loads upstairs. He put them away in the proper places, settling the items away in order, and he cleaned up the bathrooms; he drained the tubs, he folded Young Jason’s unused clothes and put them away, and he put the kettle on the stove for tea later.

He put one load in the dryer, the final one in the washer, and when those were completed folded and switched the washed clothes to the dryer; when, finally, that too was completed he folded and reverently put Young Jason’s clothes back in his drawers. Alfred exited the room, closing the door ever so quietly behind him as if the teenager was there sleeping, and returned to the kitchen.

Jason was dead.

He poured himself a cup of tea, sat in the breakfast nook in the kitchen, and cried.


End file.
